


You

by TheEvangelion



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Chastity Device, Comfort, Corporal Punishment, Cunt busting, Cuntbusting, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, M/S, Master/Slave, Mistress, Mistress Lena, Mistress Lena Luthor, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sexual Slavery, Slave Kara, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: Prompt Fill for BGF: “Owner!Lena x Slave!Kara/Reader. Lena gives Kara a serious cuntbusting punishment for being a naughty girl, but when Kara/Reader safewords, Lena is the perfect loving Mistress with gentle aftercare to Kara/Reader’s sore private parts. (Lena x Reader)
Relationships: Kara Danvers & Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Lena Luthor/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	You

_Fast Prompt from BGF: “Owner!Lena x Slave!Kara/Reader. Lena gives Kara a serious cuntbusting punishment for being a naughty girl, but when Kara/Reader safewords, Lena is the perfect loving Mistress with gentle aftercare to Kara/Reader’s sore private parts._

**AN: I can’t remember the last time I wrote second-person! I most very excite.**

“What did I tell you?” Lena’s tone is manacled and calm, and yet the anger is detectable in her body language—her folded arms and glaring raised eyebrow pointed at you with total severity. “If I have to ask you again then the chastity belt goes on and it stays on for a month. What did I tell you? What do I tell you _every_ morning?”

“To be home before dark,” You whisper, wincing at her tone.

“And why do I tell you to be home before dark?” Lena doesn’t let it go.

“Because…” You stall. “Because that’s your right—”

“No,” Lena interrupts, tilting her head almost imperceptibly, and then her heels click down the marble hallway towards you with a clipped menacing sound. “ _Why_ do I tell you to be home before dark?”

“Because you worry,” You mumble, unable to meet her emerald eyes, guilty and well aware she’s going to drag total and absolute penance out of you.

“More than worry.” Lena’s lips fidget. “I panic. It’s no secret that you’re mine, that I afford you a liberal amount of freedom. Do you not think that unsavoury characters would hurt you to get to me?” Her glare strikes you like a slap to the face.

“I’m sorry,” You tell her, serious and apologetic. “I know I forgot, I know it’s the second time—”

“No,” Lena cuts you off. “I warned you, I _always_ give you fair warning before a punishment is ever on the cards. I’m beginning to think you enjoy them considering you so often disobey me, little girl.” She folds her arms over her dark navy cashmere sweater.

She isn’t wrong.

“I’m going to take a moment to calm down, I hold myself above striking you out of anger under any circumstances,” Lena tells you softly, but her tone is manacled and decisive. “Panties, right now.” She thrusts her hand out towards you. “Go stand in my study with your skirt raised and your shame exposed. You can think about what you have done in silence. I will come up when I’m ready to deal with you.”

“Yes Lena.”

The threat is clear and unspoken, ‘You will not be needing these, little girl.’ Her stare burns as you tug and pull your panties down, her lips never lifting, her expression never softening. When you place them into her open palm, she puts them in the pocket of her pencil skirt for safe-keeping.

Then you are dismissed.

Lena sends you shuffling nervously to her office upstairs with nothing more than a perfectly manicured, pointed finger casted towards the staircase.

“And little girl?” Lena summons your attention with a stern tone as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Yes Ma’am?” You turn over your shoulder.

“I talked to the head of faculty this morning.” Her jaw grinds, thin crimson lips shifting responsively. “You failed to turn in your last college assignment. I was _very-surprised_ to hear you required an extension on your project... I thought we were quite clear about transparency concerning your academic performance?”

Fuck, she knows about that too.

You cannot even manage a response.

“I suggest you brace yourself, little girl.” Lena walks off down the hallway towards the dining room, no doubt in search of a glass of wine to soothe her steaming temper. “You are in for a reckoning.”

***

As far as Owners went, you hit the jackpot with Lena Luthor. You know that to be an objective truth. The auction houses were frequented by only the wealthy and the wealthier than wealthy. It was a rarity to find good people in the upper-echelon circles that could afford the price of a slave.

The auction would commence, wild bidding would ensue, and off a troubled girl would be sent to one of two fates: a whore for the brothel houses in the seedy goings-on west of the city, or a domestic slave for a wealthy Master who had worked his last one to terminal failure.

Then again, much like Lena Luthor, you also didn’t wind up at the slave market that evening under any usual pretence. A troubled girl, you were most certainly not.

Most of the time, a person was put into indentured slave service through court-ordered judiciary sentencing. A cheaper way to punish criminals than taxpayer-funded prisons.

The sentencing process remained the same as it did under old law. A repeat offender would be handed down an indentured slave sentence on their third strike.

A person convicted of burglary might receive a six year sentence in indentured servitude. A person convicted of the most serious crimes might receive a life sentence—that was _if_ the judiciary committee decided they wouldn’t pose a risk to a potential Owner’s safety. Capital punishment was always an option too, for those who could not be redeemed.

But you ended up at the slave auction not through criminal misdeed, rather poor judgement as a result of your foolish, optimistic youth. A large loan that you could no longer make the repayments against, with your indentured service put up as the collateral when the contract had been signed.

You could have never expected that _you_ would be the one they made an example of as a deterrent to others who thought they might get away with the same old trick.

A two-hundred-thousand dollar loan with yearly inflated interest meant that your indentured service may as well have been a life-sentence. You would serve less time in slave service had you shot someone in cold-blood.

But, when the auction master brought you on stage with a fist wrapped tight around your tugging collar—nude, gagged, and crying—the audience grew laser-focused, ogling you with appraising eyes the moment the pertinents were uttered: virgin stock, no criminal charge, twenty-one and indentured against a very, very large loan indeed.

The auction war quickly reached twice, then three times the sum of your original loan. A record sale for the evening with the sum still driving higher and higher.

Well, until Lena Luthor entered the bidding.

Nobody went higher after Lena Luthor put down her ridiculous price.

She looked at you with an indescribably stern sense of focus. A soft, porcelain-featured face that was utterly expressionless, sat among a sea of rowdy men slapping her thin shoulder as though she were one of the boys. It was as though she were angry, even. You found out many months afterwards that she was indeed angry the night that she bought you.

A business dinner with a large client that had turned into drinks, which had turned into being dragged to the auction house for a view of the girls—she had no intention of buying one that night. She thought the owning of slaves was gauche at best and sadistic at worst. But…

Then she saw _you_.

“I couldn’t stomach the thought of you going home with anyone else,” Lena told you one night, craning down, pecking the back of your neck while you kneeled with your face in her lap like a good pet. “Such a poor, frightened little thing,” she muttered absent-mindedly, as though still astounded she purchased you too. “You needed love and authority. You needed _me_.”

To Lena Luthor, you aren’t a slave. You are her favourite, most beloved little pet—allowed to sleep in her bed, spoiled with grace and finery reflecting her high-society station. You’re her everything. More than that, even.

You’re her treasure—she tells you that often.

When you have been well behaved.

When you haven’t been well behaved she calls you different things. Never forbidden words, but the insults never have to be vulgar or crass to cut you to your core. Lena Luthor is capable of ruining you to tears with nothing more than a purposeful, cross look.

Or, little more than a firm thumb pressed to the branded L-shaped scar on your buttocks, to remind you whom you belong to. Rules of the auction house, but Lena was gracious enough to afford you the dignity of a more private place than your arm or breast.

You stand in front of her mahogany desk with your skirt lifted high above your waist. The cast-iron radiator beneath the bay window across the room punches out more heat than you can manage. The anxiety of being left with your thoughts is enough to send your spine slick and damp, but the deep warm heat of the study compounds it all.

It’s the least of your concerns when your Owner finally comes to deal with you.

“Skirt up higher,” Lena says with a cool tone, striding without so much as a glance in your direction. “Now, my dear, what am I going to do with you?” She perches on the front of her desk and pushes down her pencil skirt neatly, then clasps her hands at her waist.

“Whatever you think is appropriate, Lena.”

“No, no.” Lena shakes her head. “Formal protocol. Mistress or Ma’am.”

“Yes Mistress.” You blush. “Whatever you think is appropriate, Ma’am.”

“Appropriate.” Lena briefly lifts her eyebrows, as though the word is somewhat amusing. “I tell you something I find very inappropriate.” She lifts your panties from her pocket on the tip of her pointer finger. “ _Still wet_. Imagine my surprise when I saw the product of the little talk we had earlier? I had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that you might have received me with a sense of seriousness.”

“I take you seriously, Ma’am!” It bursts out of your chest. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t. I can’t control it—”

“I don’t want to hear it, little girl,” Lena cuts you off.

It’s one thing when she’s angry, but you can tell by the look in her eyes, by the slow flex of her slender jaw that you have disappointed her—hurt her, even.

Lena doesn’t put the burden on you. She never has to tell you that she’s angry, or sad, or disappointed, it’s as though she holds herself above it all. But, you’re more than capable of filling in the blanks by yourself. It makes you feel ashamed, most of all, because you’re still dripping and swollen between your legs.

And you know by the flare of her nostrils that she can tell too.

“Over the desk,” Lena says calmly.

She moves away and you move forward, pushing past her with a craning head so you don’t have to look your Mistress in the eyes. It’s embarrassing. It’s nerve wracking. It’s a challenge you’re not up to. The thought of her spanking your bottom, caning it, blistering your backside with the paddle hung up on the door, it sends your arousal into overdrive.

“Skirt up.” Lena bunches it by the fistful and presses it up your spine, and suddenly your wet cunt is sandwiched between your thighs and on display. “I don’t approve of this one small bit, little girl.” Her finger gently trails the edges of your wet lips.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, feeling the blush grow. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“And yet you have.” It cuts you to your core, but Lena doesn’t have to raise a single octave. “Spread your thighs and hold your backside apart.”

That strikes you as odd.

You do as you’re told. Your body collapsed over the sturdiness of the wood. Your belly push-pulling against it nervously. When you open your legs and spread your cheeks apart, Lena makes a low growling noise, as though you’re beautiful, a whore, a slut, a pain in her head, but still _beautiful_.

Then she strikes you with her bare palm right on your cunt, drawing a fast sharp breath that takes you off-guard.

“The mess you make—” Lena slips her hand around your face, showing you her slick and wet palm. “Lick it clean.”

“Please Mistress that’s, that’s humiliating—”

“Do as you’re told.”

You lick her palm, tasting yourself, cleaning her off, blushing crimson while she opens your cunt lips with her other hand. There’s a loud tisk sound, disapproving and full of reproach. You close your eyes and bury your mouth into her cradled palm, hoping that if you do it just right, kiss it off the way she likes, that Lena might show some mercy...

“The belt will do the trick,” she hums, to herself. “Perhaps then you won’t be so remiss and preoccupied next time I try to have a serious talk with you concerning your service.”

“The belt?” You whimper.

“The belt,” Lena confirms, taking the long stiff leather from the top of her drawer. “I suggest you count your blessings that it’s _this_ belt. The thought did cross my mind to put you in your chastity belt—stuff you full with the thorny roses that I bought you yesterday when I _thought_ you had been well-behaved—pretty flowers for your pretty flower…” Lena cracks the desk with her bunched belt so hard and loud that it makes you curl up and cry. “But, perhaps just a good spanking is all you need.”

She strikes you with an underhand snap to your cunt. The belt wraps vertically along your slit, the tongue cracking your mound, centimetres spare of your clitoris. You double-over into the desk, wailing, but you do not dare cover yourself or stop spreading those cheeks.

“So disrespectful,” Lena growls, then belts your cunt again. “All the things I do for you, how gentle I am with you, and you cannot meet my concern with a sense of exactness in the spare moments I’m disappointed...”

“I’m sorry!” You yelp when she belts your cunt again. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s not about being sorry.” Lena stops, slipping her fingers through your throbbing sore lips. “It’s about learning a lesson, developing the right kind of behavioural responses.”

“I’ll be a good girl next time,” You whimper and choke out the words, eyes clenched tight from the tears while Mistress softly rubs your suffering little cunt lips. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“You’re always a good girl, sweetheart,” Lena says, pecking your neck chastely. “You’re just a good girl who misbehaves sometimes. But, we will rectify that. Spread your cheeks again…”

The belt comes fast and frequently this time, strikes that snap back and forth, licking your cunt with fire, drumming you again and again before your body can process the horrible agony of each strike. When you try to instinctively shift or pull yourself over the desk to hide from her, Mistress is one step ahead.

Mistress is always one step ahead.

You feel Lena’s knee settle into the small of your spine, she leans outwards from herself to continue striking your cunt. Somehow, the angle only compounds your misery—at such short-range there is no hiding from her belt no matter how hard you kick or try to pull yourself away.

“Mistress!” You squeal, kicking your legs harder, slapping your hands around to hide that one sensitive spot where her belt keeps cracking you right on your stinging red cunt lips. “Please, I’m sorry—I am so sorry!”

“I know you are.” Lena keeps your legs apart and strikes you again. “But, it’s neither here nor there. I want you to hold on to this pain, sweetheart, and the next time I am trying to be serious with you—” Her belt lands on your clitoris and vulva with a horrible, deafening snap.

You squeal so loud and warbly it could shatter the glass in the windows.

The pain radiates and compounds itself like an angry knot that ties your clitoris and nerve-endings altogether with a prolonged, miserable sense of agony.

A lightning strike up into your belly, tightening your entire body, and all you can do is scream your lungs empty and cover your busted cunt with cold, sweaty palms. It hurts just to touch your lips, they’re so swollen beneath your fingers, throbbing and engorged with the blood-supply you so desperately need going to your brain to pay attention to Mistress’s calm, stern words.

“Take your hands away,” Lena whispers, steadfast in her calmness. “Take your hands away from your labia.”

Shakily, you do as you’re told and reclaim yourself.

“The next time I am expressing myself with a sense of severity,” Lena growls slightly, and you can almost hear her teeth gritting. “When you feel excitement start to flood and rush down to your prettiest parts, and your lips start to feel drippy and hot—” Her thumbs prise your puffy wet vulva apart for appraisal, and all you can do is squeal again when her hot breath lands on your cunt because it awakens the pain. “I want you to remember this pain. I want you to think about how terribly painful it is for your pretty cunt when I’m in a bad mood with you.”

Her tongue lavishes your clitoris suddenly, lapping you, exploring you, deftly pressing and circling around your twitching hole—then she pushes her tongue inside. You wail like a scalded little girl, pushing desperately against her shoulders to stop the kisses, the sucking, the way her warm hot mouth seems to whip your suffered little cunt into a tortured sting.

“Mistress please it hurts!” You sob.

Lena almost nuzzles her face deeper into your cunt folds, kissing you, pecking you, her gentle lips a beating that your clitoris cannot take despite how desperately you crave for nothing more than her mouth—always.

Her palms press and spread your thighs against her desk, your belly slack over the top of it, and no matter how hard you push or try to claw yourself away, Mistress only licks and sucks you harder as punishment.

“Mistress I am sorry!” You squeal. “I’ve learned my lesson!”

You feel two fast slender fingers slip into your cunt and hook your g-spot. She presses down into the nerves behind your clitoris, curling into it, hooking you in place with a tight clenching grip.

“Don’t you ever let me find your panties wet and creamy when I am telling you off!” She slaps your vulva with her other palm.

“Never again,” You promise with tears in your eyes.

“What happens if I do?” She slaps your cunt again, hard.

It takes your breath away and you cannot form a reply.

“What happens?” She pinches your clitoris so hard you grow light-headed from the blinding pain.

“Red!” You scream and almost startle yourself in the process. “Red, red, red, red, red—” You chunter away, sweating.

“It’s done,” Lena whispers against the damp nape of your neck. “It’s a stop, it’s a full-stop.”

“Red, red, I’m sorry—”

“We don’t say sorry for safewords,” Lena gathers you in her arms. “We never say sorry for safewords, punishment or not.”

“But,” You stop, unable to get your words out. “But you didn’t say the punishment was over and I—I safeworded—”

“We’ve stopped.” Lena pulls you towards her desk chair. She sits down first, and instinctively you kneel at her lap, sobbing and cupping your bruised and aching cunt. “It’s a stop, it’s a full-stop, the punishment is over.” She drags her fingers through your hair, allowing you a moment to breathe.

“Slaves.” You gasp. “Slaves don’t have safewords—”

“In my home they do,” Lena whispers, rubbing the back of your neck.

Then, Lena slips out of her chair and cranes down on her knees, hanging over your body almost, her gentle hands scooping you up and pulling you into her body.

“I’ve got you,” Lena murmurs against your temple, palms slipping around your ribcage. “You’re okay, it’s a stop, it’s a full stop. You were punished, and now it’s forgiven.”

“I’m.” The words stutter and stall like a flooded engine. “I’m s _orry_.”

“You were punished—because you’re human and you make mistakes—and now it is forgiven.” Lena is much more firm this time. “There’s my good girl. Come on, up-up.” She guides you off your knees and into her lap.

You slip your thighs over her crossed legs, straddling and sitting with your chest against hers. Mistress is still stern, still manacled, and there is a safety in that despite the fear that strikes you when she is in a displeased mood.

But, Mistress is also a reliably sturdy thing too when she’s quiet and deliberate like this. A leaning post that is fit for purpose—and when her fingers slip around the back of your neck and cradle you against her collarbone, you sink into her like a wave melting into the sand.

“It hurts,” You whimper, flinching every time your sore and stinging cunt lips press down and graze against her lap.

“It’s supposed to hurt, princess, but it won’t hurt for too long. You just breathe and settle.” Her firm and vascular hand finds the small of your spine and guides you down gently. “There we go, just breathe—” Her palm rubs circles when your reddened cunt lips press against her lap and stay there. “Good girl, just breathe, it’s done now.”

“I’m sorry I was dirty.”

“You were not dirty,” Lena reaffirms, her tone full of calm reproach. “Being aroused is natural, and it’s not dirty, but it’s also not appropriate when I am speaking with you about your disobedience. But, you have learned your lesson—haven’t you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” You promise, tucking your face into her neck. “You’re not angry with me anymore?”

“I made sure I wasn’t angry anymore before I came upstairs, princess.” Lena pecks your forehead, then your temple. “I made sure I forgave you before you were punished, sweetheart, just like I always do.”

“Thank you Mistress,” Your voice cracks again.

“Come on, let’s clean you up, my poor little sweet thing.”

In bed, you wrap your legs around her fierce and tight, soothing your stinging little red cunt with constant pressure against her hips and pelvis. Lena doesn’t mind, she rubs your back and pulls the blankets up, pecking your tear-stained cheeks and hushing you calm.

Her arms are so warm and solid, you sink into them with relief, snuggling, burying yourself, muttering how very sorry you are like a broken record.

Some time later, Lena puts you on your back while you’re half-asleep and lifts your ankles, slipping the smooth stainless steel under your bottom and around your waist.

“But?” You eye her cautiously, heartbroken and whimpering.

“No buts, princess.” Lena fastens your chastity belt, locks it tight and draws the key into her pocket for safekeeping. “I think a day or two in your belt should remind you whom this belongs to.” Lena softly taps her finger over the metal shield over your cunt lips.

“Then I can have it back?” Your voice tilts upwards like a plea.

“Then you can have it back, princess,” she reassures and slips back around you, drawing your spine to her chest. “Go to sleep,” she pecks your shoulder blade, her hand slipping around the chastity belt to cup and hold your cunt as though it’s her little toy and you need to be reminded of the fact.

“And if my pretty parts are still sore in the morning?” You whisper hopefully, as though she might reassure you that an orgasm can always be on the cards with the right behaviour.

“Well baby,” Lena grabs your cunt hard around the shield. “Then you will have learned a valuable lesson, and I will rather enjoy watching you whimper when you sit down.”

[FIND MY STUFF AHEAD OF THE CURVE PLUS EXCLUSIVES HERE.](http://theevangelion.tumblr.com)


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